


Twisted Roots

by sawbones



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Mild Horror, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 17:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11018637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sawbones/pseuds/sawbones
Summary: There was something wrong with the house, and he had to know what. It had resisted his every effort to make it a home, and he had to know why.





	Twisted Roots

**Author's Note:**

> A [kyluxcantina](http://kyluxcantina.tumblr.com/post/160925739500/our-family-tree-has-some-twisted-roots) fill: "our family tree has some twisted roots".

It was raining outside, the sort of lukewarm squall you could only get in summer storms when the air felt so thick you could almost scoop it up in your hands. The persistent thrum of fat-bellied raindrops on the open window was oddly comforting, a white noise that blanketed everything but the clinking of porcelain as Hux unwrapped coffee cups from sheets of old newspaper and put them away, and the breeze that came in with it was just cool enough to wick away the worst of the humidity.

Hux stopped, leaned against the sink with a half-wrapped cup in hand. He thumbed the chipped lip of it as he looked out of the window, watching the sea of spanish oaks that stretched out for acres in front of the house bob and sway gently. It was secluded, moreso than Hux would have liked, but it was beautiful even in the thin yellow light of the storm - he could only imagine what it would be like in the fall. He smiled to himself; he hoped this would be good for them.

“Penny for your thoughts,” came a voice in his ear and strong arms snaked around his waist. His smile widened as he leaned back against Ben’s chest.

“It’s nice here,” he said.

“Anywhere’s better than that apartment,” Ben said as he hooked his chin over his shoulder, and Hux hummed in agreement. He was silent for a moment, and they swayed together like the trees, “I’ve not been here since I was a kid. It feels weird to be back, especially since it’s been lying empty for so long.”

Hux turned around in Ben’s arms, still holding the cup. He smiled up at him, “We’ll make it feel like a home soon enough.”

“Home’s wherever you’re with me,” Ben said as he leaned down to ghost his lips against Hux’s; Hux turned his head to the side with a laugh and nudged his chest.

“Calm down, Nicholas Sparks - home’s going to be wherever these boxes get unpacked. I do hope you’re not expecting me to do it all?” he said. Ben wrinkled his nose but untangled himself from Hux anyway, “That’s what I thought. The plates are still out in the hallway, go earn those kisses.”

–

It took days to unpack all the boxes, especially since having a place of their own - a real place, not some shitty studio apartment with a reeking garbage disposal unit and a leaky shower - had put Ben in some kind of mood. A good mood, mostly, a playful one, but sometimes a little more withdrawn than usual. One moment they’d bickering over which side of the room to put the sofa on, then they’d move to abandoning it right in the middle in favour of fooling around on it a little - and then just as suddenly, Ben would get up and walk out like someone had called his name. He could disappear for hours. Hux knew better than to go looking for him.

It had been his grandfather’s house, so Hux supposed moving into it after a surprise inheritance had him feeling thoughtful. Besides, he’d always been prone to his funny moods - that was just a fact of life when it came to loving Ben. He just wished he would help a little more with the unpacking. It felt like it took twice as long as it should have. He could never figure out where to put what, especially since they had so much space to fill, and Hux kept getting confused about what he’d unpacked already, no matter how methodically he did it - he’d put away the towels in the linen closet, then go back to the bedroom to find them neatly stacked on the bed right where they’d started out.

–

Ben kissed the side of his neck, following a line up to his ear; he drew the lobe into his mouth, bit gently in that way that made Hux shiver every time. He was standing like he had been on the first day, at the kitchen sink with Ben’s arms around him, cup in hand - one that he was washing, this time, not putting away.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Hux said, even as he turned his head to the side to offer more of himself to Ben. He kept his eyes fixed on a spot on the tree-obscured horizon.

“When it stops raining,” Ben said, the words slurred by his skin. It had been raining for days. Home-making was good for the soul but Hux wanted to get out, wanted to feel any fresh air but the breeze that crept in through the open window. He gripped the edge of the sink.

“A drive?”

“Sure,” Ben said. Hands found his hips, pulled him flush against him, “When it stops raining.”

–

It was an old house - an old, old house - though Ben couldn’t say exactly how old. He just knew it had been in his family for generations, and frankly, it showed. The hardwood flooring had warped all throughout the house, the doors and window frames too. Some were jammed open, some were jammed shut; there were whole rooms he couldn’t get into because the door wouldn’t budge no matter how hard Hux rattled the handle.

Combined with the fact that so much of the house had been extended over the years - wings added, rooms spliced into rooms, staircases built and then blocked off - it was like a damn maze. There were even occasions when Hux would open the door to a room and find himself somewhere completely unexpected, even weeks after he was certain he had memorised the floor plan. He was sure the bathroom had been second on the right. Third on the right? No, it was first on the left - but since when?

“You’re just not used to a big old place like this yet,” Ben had told him when he brought it up, bright and faux-breezy over dinner one night, “You’ll be turned around for a while, don’t worry about it.”

Hux rolled the stem of one of the few wine glasses to survive the moving process between his fingers with a mild hum. He didn’t remind him he’d grown up in a house even bigger than this one, and he’d never once lost an entire floor before.

–

The kitchen was by far Hux’s favourite room in the house. It was huge, nearly the size of the entire apartment they had shared before moving. It had old, cracked terracotta tiles and sprawling gas range with blackened cast iron pots hung all in a row above it. Hux had never been much of a cook but he was willing to learn now he had such a playground to work with.

There was also a pleasant atmosphere to the room, something warm and almost airy, which was a nice respite from the rest of the house. He had an office somewhere upstairs but he still ended up working in the kitchen more often than not.

“What’s in there?” Hux asked one afternoon. He was sitting at the kitchen table, pen in hand; Ben was getting a beer out of the fridge. He glanced over at where Hux was looking: a door on the far side of the room, set back slightly in an alcove of its own. It was neatly - but thoroughly - boarded up. It wasn’t the only room in the house like that, so he hadn’t been too curious about it at first, but he spent so much of his day sitting facing it that he was beginning to wonder.

Ben twisted the cap off his beer and looked away; he shut the fridge door hard enough to make the bottles inside clink, “Basement.”

“Why is it boarded up?” Hux pressed.

“Black mold, I think,” Ben said, and Hux turned in his seat to look at him in disgust.

“Black mold? Why didn’t you say something sooner?” he said sharply, his brow dipping, “We’ll need to get someone out, we can’t have black mold right under the kitchen. I’ll call them first thing in the morning.”

“Don’t,” Ben said with a forcefulness that took Hux by surprise, “I mean– don’t waste your time, it’s not that serious. It’s been boarded up since before I was born, I think it was more of a precaution than anything else. If it was dangerous, grandpa would have sorted it out before– well, before.”

Hux held Ben’s gaze for a second, then nodded and turned back to his work, his lips thinned in displeasure. Ben didn’t speak of his grandfather often, but he seemed to have had a great influence over his life. He knew he was practically an intruder in his house, or at least that’s what he felt like at times. He didn’t want to provoke Ben further, but he still didn’t care to be snapped at.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ben said, giving Hux’s shoulder a squeeze, “But do me a favour - don’t go down there, okay? It’s not worth the risk.”

Hux only grunted in response, wanting the conversation to be over already. Ben squeezed harder, forcing him to look up. He had a strange expression on his face, something hard behind his eyes that made Hux want to shrivel up.

“I mean it. Promise me you won’t go down to the basement.”

“I promise,” Hux said through clenched teeth. Ben smiled and immediately let him go. He pressed a kiss to the crown of his head like nothing had happened and left the room, beer in hand.

Hux stared holes through the basement door, his shoulder aching. The kitchen felt colder than it had before.

–

It was raining again. In fact, it seemed like it had not stopped in the weeks and months since they had moved there. What had been comforting white noise had became an incessant, irritating drone. He was so sure if it didn’t stop any time soon, the house would be washed right into the forest and down the valley; he wasn’t convinced that would be a bad thing.

Hux lay in bed, watching the shadows crawl across the ceiling. He hadn’t slept well in days; Ben tossed fitfully beside him, but then again he had never been an easy sleeper.

“You awake?” he asked, voice thick with sleep as he reached out for Hux, “What’s wrong?”

“What did your grandfather do?” Hux asked.

Ben knuckled his eyes and blinked in the darkness, “Uh, doctor, I think. Something like that.”

What use was a doctor forty, fifty miles out in the middle of nowhere?

“What happened to him?”

The silence that followed was weighty. Hux turned his head to look at Ben, even if he couldn’t see him.

“I don’t know,” Ben said.

“What happened to your parents?”

“I don’t know,” Ben said again.

Hux looked away. Ben eventually fell back asleep, but he didn’t. He just lay there and listened to the rain.

–

Hux began opening all the doors he could in the house. Every corridor he walked down, every room he passed through. Airing it out, he told Ben when he pried. Trying to get rid of that damp smell.

He looked at Hux like he was crazy when he asked why they were always all closed again come morning. He learned to stop asking, but he never shut a door behind himself again.

–

“Where do you go?” Hux asked.

Ben didn’t respond at first, just went on unbuttoning his shirt. He tossed it at the laundry basket and missed; Hux knew he’d be the one to pick it up later, “What do you mean?”

“When you’re gone, you’re gone for hours,” Hux said. He should have been getting undressed for bed too, “Where do you go?”

“For a walk,” Ben said, not missing a beat this time, “To clear my head.”

Hux watched him as he wandered into the en suite bathroom. He left the door open as he turned on the tap and began to brush his teeth. Hux wanted to get up and slam the door, to call him a liar, to smash their alarm clock they never set against the wall. He wanted to take the car keys and leave. He wanted to swallow down the wave of nausea that rose up in his throat.

“You’re never wet,” he said. Ben looked at him with a questioning grunt, like he hadn’t heard him right, “When you come back. You’re never wet.”

Ben frowned, then laughed around his toothbrush, “It’s not always raining.”

“It is. It is always raining, it never stops fucking raining here,” Hux said through his teeth. Ben’s smile slipped.

“What is it you’re accusing me of, exactly?”

_“Where do you go?”_

Hands curled into fists. Ben spat into the sink and shook his head like he was going to drop it, but he couldn’t. He turned, braced himself against the doorframe and leaned into the bedroom, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but you need to stop this. You need to stop doing this.”

“Why won’t you answer the question,” Hux said. There was a quiver in his voice that he hated; his breath felt so thin and insubstantial as it caught in his throat. Ben took a step towards him but he didn’t flinch, just lifted his chin, kept his gaze hard and steady even if his hands shook.

Ben’s shoulders dropped. He threw his hands up in disgust and turned away from Hux, “I’m sleeping on the sofa tonight. Sort your head out.”

–

It was warm, warmer than he thought it would be, almost like being in a shower just before the hot water ran out. Hux closed his eyes and tilted his head back, turned his palms to the sky, let the rain soak through him in seconds. The ground beneath his bare feet wasn’t sodden like it should have been, but the grass was soft and sweet-smelling.

“Hux!”

He walked towards to the treeline; the shining wet leaves nodded in the breeze, calling him closer like beckoning hands.

“Hux, get back here!”

He turned to look over his shoulder at Ben, standing in the frame of the back door, the kitchen light behind his head. He was wearing the same hard expression as before. Hux didn’t saying anything.

“It’s raining, you’re going to get sick.”

He glanced back at the trees. There was a tightness in his stomach that he couldn’t explain, a lead weight on his chest; he had the strangest urge to start running. He could make it to the treeline before Ben caught him, he knew he could, and then he’d be lost to the forest.

“Hux, come back inside,” Ben urged again. There was something slanting and desperate in the fringes of his voice, “You’re not wearing any shoes.”

The feeling - the instinct, primal and sharp-toothed - stretched out, taut like a bow-string until it snapped, guttered and died. The moment to escape passed and Hux began to walk towards the house. Ben was waiting for him with dark eyes and warm, dry hands. He brushed away the water that clung to Hux’s lashes, brushed his lips across his closed mouth. He took him by the arm and led him upstairs where he pulled him out of his wet clothes and laid him on the bed, and fucked him like he loved him. Like he was worried about him.

Ben cupped Hux’s face in his hands when he kissed him again and made him promise not to leave the house again. Hux couldn’t remember what he said.

–

Hux closed the lid of Ben’s toolbox and tested the weight on the hammer in one hand. Satisfied, though he didn’t know by what parameters, he climbed up onto the edge of the kitchen table and smashed the lightbulb hanging above it with a single sure-armed swing. He didn’t flinch away from the powdery shards of glass, but he was careful to avoid the worst of it as he climbed back down, hammer still in hand.

He stared up at the empty light fixture and wondered if he should do the the rest of the lights downstairs, but he decided against it. He wasn’t sure if  he had the time; Ben had disappeared nearly an hour ago and he didn’t know when he would be back, so he turned his attention to the basement door.

The nails were surprisingly easy to pry out of the planks, like they were loose. He put each one in his pocket so he could replace them without losing any. Too many nooks and crannies in an old house for a dropped nail to roll into and get lost, and then where would Hux be if Ben noticed? He would notice, of course. He always did.

Hux pried off the last few boards with his hands and dumped them in a pile behind him. He considered doing the same with the hammer too, but didn’t. He didn’t know if he needed it but its reassuring heft made him feel better. The door didn’t creak when he pulled it open, nor did the top step when he tested his weight on it. The thin light from the kitchen barely penetrated the heavy, close darkness; beyond the first three or four steps, it was very nearly pitch black.

The air was stale and still as it rose up to meet him. There was something rank in it, something rotten that the damp and the dust couldn’t hide. Hux desperately wanted to turn heel and close the door behind him, to board it up and be done with it - but he had to know. There was something wrong with the house, and he had to know what. It had resisted his every effort to make it a home, and he had to know _why_.

His knees felt weak as he descended the staircase, but he steeled himself. He tightened his grip on the hammer, and held his phone as a makeshift flashlight in the other. The light swept across the packed earth floor, the featureless stone walls as he reached the bottom of the staircase. He turned, and there in the middle of the room was a table.

It was old, wooden, heavily varnished, unremarkable aside from leather straps at either end. The stench of rot was stronger as Hux approached, and he found himself rooted in place. The light wavered as his hands began to tremble. It wasn’t varnish - it was blood. Blood, blackish and flaky, caked every surface of the table. It had ran down the legs in rivulets, soaked into the dirt; it had stained the soft underside of the the leather straps, left them stiff with gore.

He pressed his mouth to his wrist in an effort to stop himself from retching as he circled the table, unable to look away until his foot hit something. He pointed the light down: it was a metal lock box, blue and rusted. Hux stared at it, willing it to disappearing, willing the soiled earth to open up and swallow it because god, he didn’t want to know what was inside it.

He crouched and picked it up, sat it on the table. It was lighter than he thought it would be; he hoped there wasn’t anything in it at all. The old padlock broke with one half-hearted knock from the hammer and Hux flipped the lid open before he could lose his nerve. Inside were photographs - dozens of them, maybe more. Some were old, black and white; others were more recent.

Most of them were of Ben. Ben as a child, grinning at the camera with a gap where his two front teeth should have been. Ben on a tire swing, bony knees smeared with dirt. Ben kneeling beside a young woman who was propped up against a tree, her hair covering her face as her head drooped to her chest. Ben - a youth now, maybe twelve or thirteen - standing at the basement door, his hands shiny and wet with something blackish as he held them out proudly. Ben, still so young, leaning against the very table Hux stood beside then, his hand resting on the bare, bruised ankle of someone not wholly in the picture. He was undoing the leather strap, or maybe tightening it.

Hux’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest as he fumbled his way to the most recent photo, unfaded, uncreased. Ben was a man in it: his hair was cut shorter than he liked to keep it normally. Hux remembered when he had cut it like that, just after they had moved into the apartment together. He remembered how he teased him, saying it made his ears look even bigger than usual. He had called them his love handles, and Ben has laughed even while he sulked.

He was laughing in the photograph too, the corners his dark eyes creased just the way Hux liked them. Oh god, he was still so beautiful even with a hunting rifle across his lap and a man at his feet, naked, face-down in the wet grass; he had his arm around an older man, slight and wispy haired, his face badly scarred. He was in the background of almost every photo in the box, right from the very oldest. Ben’s grandfather.

“You’re not supposed to be down here.”

Dread washed over Hux at that moment, and he turned his phone towards the stairs; he could just about make out Ben standing halfway down the stairs. He began to shake his head, unable to find the words.

“You promised me,” he said, taking another step down. His voice was choked, cracked, heavy with hurt, “You _promised_ me you wouldn’t come down here.”

Hux had broken the light in the kitchen so he had an excuse to come to the basement, claiming to be looking for the fuse box. That wasn’t going to work, not after what he had really found.

“I didn’t see anything,” Hux said, trying to sound calm even though he was sure he would shake apart, “We can go back upstairs. We can– we can board up the door again. I didn’t see anything.”

“He told me I was too soft on you. He told me you would let me down. This was your chance to prove him wrong, this was your test and you failed,” Ben said. The tears on his cheeks glinted dimly in the low light, and that scared Hux. He had never seen him cry before, not even in anger.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” he said. His voice was tight, trembling with the effort to keep his composure, “I’m sorry. We can pretend–”

“I loved you,” Ben said, “You were always my favourite. I loved you the most.”

Fear turned to ice in his veins; Hux tried to steel himself, tried to stuff down the bile rising in his throat.

“You don’t have to do this, Ben,” Hux tried, one last desperate appeal, “I love you too.”

Ben lurched towards him then, and Hux made a reckless grab for the hammer on the table; his fingers wrapped around the smooth handle just in time for Ben to grab his wrist and slam it against the table, causing him to drop it. In a panic, he swung his other hand at him blindly; he managed to smash him in the side of the head with the heel of his phone, but it did nothing. Less than nothing. It slipped from his fingers as Ben grappled him to the ground, the light guttering and dying. Hands curled around his neck - hands that he had held, hands that he had kissed and loved. Hands that had hurt. Hands that had killed. They began to squeeze.


End file.
